


Handsome Jack Goes to Kroger

by Glory_Of_Mars



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Other, squick warning for customer service employees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 00:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glory_Of_Mars/pseuds/Glory_Of_Mars
Summary: A Handsome Man under the name of Jack goes into a space Kroger.





	Handsome Jack Goes to Kroger

**Author's Note:**

> hehe hoohoo

Handsome Jack goes to kroger 

There he was. The fucking pretzel aisle. Everything was dark, just before close, as he stood there in his pajamas.   
Just one good box of pretzels was what he needed. The meager paycheck that he had earned this week was not nearly enough to cover all the pretzels for the week.   
What would happen if he didn’t get his pretzels? Would his boss fire him? Would he get shot out of an airlock? Would he maybe find an absolute hottie in the grocery store and then get laid because of cheap grocery pretzels?   
That last thought wasn’t organic. It was the sexy little lady on one the pretzel packets.   
No, he couldn’t afford to get distracted by literal plastic tits right now.   
Jack reached for the honey-coated pretzels.   
He had decided that he was a man of his own fate. No one would decide what happens with these kroger pretzels. No more. No longer could he stand the constant kroger trips for pretzels.   
He slipped over to the space-punk-latino aisle and grabbed some of Marcus’s spicy-ass hella-penos. Jack would be the only person to decide who got to have the worst diarrhea on the helios space station. His footsteps became quicker, the soft squeak of the fluffy horse slippers becoming more and more urgent. His cart scrirrted around the corner and he dashed to where the premium coffee grounds were.   
Throwing them into the basket, his handsome sensual piercing heterochromatic eyes madly flickered to the check out counters, where the light of a single kroger-brand lantern let him know that some poor soul was still at the register. He dumped his shit promptly on the conveyor belt and dug through his small wallet for his corporate spending card. This diarrhea was going to go directly on the company bill.   
It was going to be under the utility bill. Because the toilets in space are especially hard to unclog. You have to hire a whole ass space crew to get that done. Because guess where shit goes on a observatory station? 

SPACE. 

SPACE IS FULL OF SHIT.

Just like the office environment. 

Jack was a code monkey. Taunted as such every day of his miserable career. But damn if this monkey wasn't going to throw some shit around his office space as if it were some particularly special instance of monkey Christmas. The goddamn celebration of the first time that the chimpanzee god of all apekind got to throw his shit in the face of the cosmic fabric of time-space. 

Jack dropped a nickel on the ground.

The tired teenage employee behind the counter paused in his checking out for a second.   
Jack looked up to see what type of judgement was going to be passed on a grown man in pajamas inside of a nearly closed Kroger on the surface of the forty-second Mars colony whomst just dropped a nickel on the freshly waxed (By a roomba with a knife taped on it) floor. 

They stared for what seemed like effervescent lifetimes, but to the naked eye, only a few quiet, simple seconds passed.   
A coder and a cashier are both considered lower life forms by their employers.   
But they have the only language that god can understand.  
Three point fourteen seconds of unbroken eye contact.  
And a twitch of the inner iris.  
And all is understood.

Jack would go on to grasp the pretzels, one by one, firmly but with the finesse of a oboe player. He would dip them each, delicately, coating each in the warm embrace of fiery temper of the hella-penos.

And then, he would grind them ‘neath the heel of his favorite sneakers. And deposit the dust into the coffee grounds.   
Someone would ask for coffee. Jack would insert a special ingredient.

Cracher’ de’ Jaque’

His slimy, moist, and slightly cloudy ball of spit. 

A pinch of laxative, penis enlargement pill flavored Gatorade, and sock sweat would make it perfect.

Sometimes, heroism is defined by doing the right thing.

But nobody tells you the truth. 

That heroism is defined by suffering the duty of doing the wrong thing at the right time.


End file.
